FILM FRENZY

William Shatner, Ernest Borgnine, and John Travolta in The Devil’s Rain (Photos: Severin)

By Matt Brunson

(View From The Couch is a weekly column that reviews what’s new on Blu-ray, 4K, and DVD. Ratings are on a four-star scale.)

THE DEVIL’S RAIN (1975). Let’s make something clear: Despite the ad-campaign promise that it features “absolutely the most incredible ending of any motion picture ever,” there’s simply no mistaking The Devil’s Rain for a truly good film. At the same time, if ever a so-so flick qualified as a required viewing event for the curious and the cultists, it’s this one — personally, this must-see movie must have been seen by me about a half-dozen times over the decades. After all, in the annals of cinema, not many other motion pictures have presented a cast eclectic enough to hold Ernest Borgnine, William Shatner, Eddie Albert, Ida Lupino, Tom Skerritt. Keenan Wynn, and John Travolta. The opening-credits sequence is terrific, featuring the superb artwork of Hieronymus Bosch (who were you expecting for this kind of film, Norman Mailer?). Then from Bosch we go to Borgnine, who manages to deliver three bad performances for the paycheck of one: as a 17th century Satanist, as his modern-day cowpoke reincarnation, and in heavy goat makeup as Satan himself. Shatner, whose emoting here always seems on the verge of causing him a hernia, and Skerritt play siblings who attempt to defeat the demonic sect hanging out in their corner of the American Southwest, while Travolta, making his film debut as a follower of Scientology, excuse me, follower of Satan, delivers only one word of dialogue (“Blasphemer!”) before melting into a puddle of glop during a protracted finale. Anton LaVey, the notorious founder of the Church of Satan, served as the technical advisor and appears in a small role as the cult’s High Priest.

Extras in this 4K + Blu-ray release (with a Limited Edition slipcover) include audio commentary by director Robert Fuest; interviews with Skerritt, special effects artist Tom Burman, and Anton LaVey biographer Blanche Barton; and a 1975 interview with Shatner.

Movie: ★★½

THE FINAL PROGRAMME (1973). In between helming the 1971 Vincent Price hit The Abominable Dr. Phibes (as well as its 1972 sequel Dr. Phibes Rises Again) and 1975’s The Devil’s Rain (reviewed directly above), Robert Fuest both wrote and directed The Final Programme, an adaptation of the 1965 Michael Moorcock novel featuring the author’s popular character of Jerry Cornelius. Heavily edited and retitled The Last Days of Man on Earth for its initial U.S. run (but of course presented here uncut), this spacey oddity casts Jon Finch as Jerry, a scientist and sensualist who hates his brother (Derrick O’Connor), loves his sister (Sarah Douglas), and has a cynical quip always standing by. Jerry joins forces with three elderly scientists and the enigmatic Miss Brunner (Jenny Runacre), a bisexual who literally absorbs her lovers, to implement The Final Programme, his late father’s attempt to create a new type of human being to replace the one that’s likely to soon become extinct. Fuest’s script manages to be both underdeveloped and overextended, with the filmmaker clearly more interested in providing visual oomph than anything else: Jerry’s swinger pad, the Cornelius estate, a safe door that doubles as a chessboard, and a pinball arena even stranger than the ones Tommy would flaunt two years later.

Severin Films has released The Final Programme in a 4K + Blu-ray edition (limited to only 3,000) sporting a striking slipcover (a standard Blu-ray edition sans slipcover is also available). Extras include audio commentary by Andrew Nette, co-editor of Dangerous Visions and New Worlds: Radical Science Fiction, 1950 to 1985; archival audio commentary by Fuest and Runacre; a discussion of The Final Programme with Moorcock; an archival interview with Runacre; and a video essay by costume historian Elissa Rose.

Movie: ★★½

HUMPHREY BOGART: 4-FILM COLLECTION (1940-1950). If James Cagney: 4-Film Collection (reviewed here) was the best of the numerous Blu-ray compilations released as of late by the Warner Archive Collection, then this gathering of films from Cagney’s studio stablemate ranks as one of the weakest. The Cagney set didn’t just contain some of his definitive signature flicks — it contained all of them (The Public Enemy, Angels With Dirty Faces, Yankee Doodle Dandy, White Heat). A comparable Humphrey Bogart set would have had to include Casablanca, The Maltese Falcon, The Treasure of the Sierra Madre, and probably The Big Sleep, and perhaps one of the reasons they weren’t included is because most fans of classic cinema already own them. But couldn’t they at least have gone with other certified classics like High Sierra, To Have and Have Not, or Key Largo? Instead, by far the best film in the collection is one in which he’s fourth-billed and sporting a supporting role, while the other three, chronologically speaking, grow progressively weaker. Still, completists might appreciate the 4-for-1 bargain price.

Decades before the life of a celluloid truck driver basically consisted of hauling contraband booze, talking on CB radios, and flipping off redneck cops, They Drive by Night (1940) depicted a decidedly darker lifestyle, with the truckers forced to contend with crooked bosses, faulty rigs, a perilous lack of sleep, and the occasional femme fatale. George Raft and Bogie are Joe and Paul Fabrini, brothers who share a truck if not the same career ambitions. Paul wouldn’t mind a steady job that would allow him to remain at home with his perpetually worried wife (Gale Page); Joe, however, has ambitions of owning his own trucking line. A tragedy changes the trajectory of Paul’s life; for his part, Joe continues to pursue his dream, taking time off to woo a sharp-tongued waitress (Ann Sheridan) while steering clear of the flirtatious wife (Ida Lupino in the role that launched her Hollywood career) of his garrulous boss (Alan Hale). Based on A.I. Bezzerides’ novel Long Haul, They Drive by Night benefits from Raoul Walsh’s muscular direction, superlative performances (even the generally sleepy Raft excels), and a twisty plot that even finds room for a murder. This was the final stepping stone on Bogart’s lengthy path to full-fledged stardom — 1941’s High Sierra, also co-starring Lupino, would permanently propel him into leading-man territory.

After the raging success of Casablanca, it’s no wonder Warner saw fit to reunite many of the key ingredients for Passage to Marseille (1944): director Michael Curtiz, at least six cast members (including Bogart, Claude Rains, Peter Lorre, and Sydney Greenstreet), and another plotline about sticking it to the Nazis. This one employs flashbacks within flashbacks within flashbacks (whew!) to relate its tale of a group of French convicts (including ones played by Bogie and Lorre) who attempt to escape from Devil’s Island so they can join the global fray and kill some Krauts. Rains co-stars as a compassionate officer in the Free French resistance army, while Greenstreet portrays a smug officer in the collaborative Vichy government. The scattershot nature of the piece — did I mention there are flashbacks within flashbacks within flashbacks? — hampers forward momentum at key junctures, and the Devil’s Island interludes are more original and entertaining than the wartime stuff, which is largely comprised of the usual noble speeches about the problems of various people not amounting to a hill of beans in this crazy skirmish.

Bogart headlines the noirish murder-mystery Conflict (1945) as Richard Mason, an architect unhappily married to Kathryn (Rose Hobart) but in love with her younger sister Evelyn (Alexis Smith). Convinced that Evelyn would reciprocate his feelings if Kathryn wasn’t around, he decides to murder his wife. His plan seems to have succeeded until he begins seeing evidence that Kathryn is very much alive — are his feelings of guilt starting to manifest themselves in ways designed to strain his sanity, or did his spouse somehow survive and now stalks him? Hardly one of Bogie’s best — a status even more pronounced since it arrived one year after To Have and Have Not and one year before The Big Sleep — Conflict is rarely believable but nevertheless maintains interest throughout. The pop psychology injected into the story, with Sydney Greenstreet coming in handy as the Masons’ psychologist friend, is never very convincing, but the movie does satisfy in the manner of an Ellery Queen (or Encyclopedia Brown) mystery: The clue that cracks the case is carefully placed within one scene so that armchair gumshoes can play along.

Over the course of 20 years, Bogart made so many great films at Warner Bros. that it’s disappointing that Chain Lightning (1950), his final collaboration with the studio, turned out to be one of the more forgettable efforts during that stretch. Indeed, Bogie isn’t entirely convincing in the role of Matt Brennan, a former WWII ace who agrees to be the lead test pilot for an aircraft company working on an experimental jet. Eleanor Parker plays the love interest who, like Casablanca’s Ilsa, unexpectedly reenters Matt’s life, Raymond Massey is the owner of the aviation company, and Richard Whorf portrays the jet’s designer. The aerial sequences deliver the goods and provide the movie with some pop, but, despite a decent performance by Whorf, the scenes set on terra firma have a tendency to drag.

Extras on They Drive by Night include a retrospective making-of piece; the Oscar-nominated 1938 live-action short Swingtime in the Movies, featuring cameos by Bogart, John Garfield, Priscilla Lane, and other Warner Bros. stars; and the 1942 radio broadcast of They Drive by Night, starring Raft, Lana Turner, and Lucille Ball. Extras on Passage to Marseille include a discussion of the politics in the film; the Oscar-winning 1944 live-action short I Won’t Play; and the Oscar-nominated 1944 live-action short Jammin’ the Blues. Extras on Conflict include the Oscar-nominated 1945 cartoon Life With Feathers, starring Sylvester; the 1945 Porky Pig cartoon Trap Happy Porky; and the 1945 radio broadcast of Conflict, also starring Bogart. Extras on Chain Lightning consist of the 1949 cartoon Bear Feet; the 1949 live-action short So You Want to Be an Actor; and the theatrical trailer.

They Drive by Night: ★★★½

Passage to Marseille: ★★½

Conflict: ★★½

Chain Lightning: ★★½

K2 (1991). A story about mountain climbers would appear to be a more natural fit for the cinema than the stage, but K2 was initially a two-man play by Patrick Myers that won Ming Cho Lee the Best Scenic Design Tony Award once it hit Broadway in 1983. Its chief selling point — and the reason for its Tony victory — was the gargantuan snowy mountainside created entirely with Styrofoam. The screen adaptation compensates by having cinematographer Gabriel Baristain come up with some awe-inspiring shots of various rocky mountain highs, but everything else about the movie, particularly its human element, seems comparatively small-scale. Two dissimilar friends, handsome and cocky lawyer Taylor Brooks (Michel Biehn) and gawky and introverted scientist Harold Jameson (Matt Craven), ascend mountains in their downtime — when they learn of a team of climbers heading to Pakistan to tackle K2, the second tallest mountain in the world, they’re able to successfully join the outfit. But the climb proves to be not only taxing, with team members periodically lashing out at each other, but also deadly, as freezing temperatures begin taking their toll. If there’s an original moment in this picture, it must have gotten buried under all the snow, as K2 plays out with all the rigidity and predictability of a paint-by-numbers portrait. The higher the characters ascend, the farther the movie plummets, as the third act grows increasingly obvious in its narrative decisions.

Extras in the 4K + Blu-ray edition consist of entertainment journalist audio commentary; an interview with director Franc Roddam; and the theatrical trailer.

Movie: ★★

LAUREL & HARDY: THE DEFINITIVE RESTORATIONS (1927-1943). Kit Parker Films and MVD initially brought out this compilation Blu-ray in 2020, but it’s being plugged again by the outfits. And why not? Fans of classic comedy who missed the announcement the first time around will certainly be grateful that it’s now been placed on their radar. Twenty-one projects by the legendary comedy team of Stan Laurel and Oliver Hardy — two feature films and 19 shorts — have been digitally restored for this collection by the combined efforts of various preservationist societies, and, as expected, these works look better than ever. The oldest piece in the set is the 1927 short The Battle of the Century, which was a lost film until approximately a decade ago — it’s the one that includes the scene in which a record 3,000 pies are thrown during a food fight. The most recent work is 1943’s The Tree in a Test Tube, a government-produced short about the wonders of wood. Stan and Ollie appear briefly in a related comic skit, and their participation makes this the only surviving film of theirs that’s in color. The greatest — and most famous — of all the shorts is 1932’s Oscar-winning The Music Box, with the boys cast as movers who must transport a piano to a house that’s situated waaaay on top of a hill. As for the features, the  1937 Western comedy Way Out West is a delight — and it earned an Oscar nomination for Best Music (Scoring) — but the real catch is 1933’s Sons of the Desert, which is generally considered the best of all their feature-length offerings.

Extras include audio commentaries on various works by Laurel & Hardy historians Randy Skretvedt and Richard W. Bann; archival film and audio interviews with many who have worked with the team in the past (plus one filmed interview with Hardy himself); trailers for a handful of their feature films; and galleries featuring 2,500 (you read that right) photos, posters, lobby cards, and studio documents.

Collection: ★★★★

THE RETURN OF THE PINK PANTHER (1975). Eleven years after the one-two punch of the 1964 hits The Pink Panther and A Shot in the Dark, writer-director Blake Edwards and star Peter Sellers finally delivered another chapter in the beloved series. In The Return of the Pink Panther, the Pink Panther diamond again gets stolen, and everyone naturally suspects Sir Charles Lytton (portrayed by David Niven in the ’64 original but here played by Christopher Plummer). Maintaining his innocence, Lytton opts to play detective, doing a far better job than the real detective on the case. That would be Inspector Clouseau (Sellers), who this time falls victim to a telephone, a vacuum cleaner, and a swimming pool. As always, Bert Kwouk as Clouseau’s manservant Kato and especially Herbert Lom as Chief Inspector Dreyfus are given moments to shine, and the picture was successful enough to resuscitate the franchise.

Kino released The Pink Panther, A Shot in the Dark, 1976’s The Pink Panther Strikes Again, and 1978’s Revenge of the Pink Panther in 4K + Blu-ray editions back in January (all are reviewed here) — with The Return of the Pink Panther belatedly arriving, that completes the set of the PP movies released during Sellers’ lifetime. Extras include a vintage behind-the-scenes featurette; an interview with co-star Catherine Schell; an interview with production designer Peter Mullins, who worked on several of the franchise’s films; and a trio of theatrical trailers.

Movie: ★★★

FROM SCREEN TO STREAM

BE KIND REWIND (2008). The premise of Be Kind Rewind is pure Michel Gondry. The end result is anything but. Here’s a guy who marches to his own quirky beat (The Science of Sleep, co-writer of Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind), and this picture’s plot can be pegged as unfiltered Gondry: After a mishap causes all the videocassettes in a rental store to be erased, a shop employee and his buddy must recreate the movies previously found on those tapes. It’s an idea that’s pure genius, and with Jack Black and the always welcome Mos Def (now Yasiin Bay) cast as the hapless amateur filmmakers, all the elements were in place for a no-holds-barred comedy, a hilarious satire that would take no prisoners. So what happened? Instead of dizzying comic heights, the film on view is shockingly tame and lazy, and its most dispiriting aspect is that the movie spoofs take a back seat to a stale storyline about, of all things, the efforts of land developers to raze the video store and erect a shiny new building in its place (similar plotlines had been used in the preceding few years by Barbershop, Dodgeball: A True Underdog Story, and Sydney White). The low-budget “remakes” of Ghostbusters and Driving Miss Daisy are amusing, but many other movies are dismissed with merely one line of dialogue; among the casualties are Boogie Nights and Last Tango In Paris — and just think how funny those spoofs might have been had Gondry been true to his comical cojones. Instead, the movie eventually abandons its high-concept angle altogether and spends the laborious last half-hour centered on the attempts of neighborhood residents to save the video shop.

Movie: ★★

THE ONLY GAME IN TOWN (1970). Like Ang Lee with Brokeback Mountain and Life of Pi, George Stevens won both of his Best Director Academy Awards for movies that failed to also win Best Picture (honors that usually go hand-in-hand). Stevens’ victories were for 1951’s A Place in the Sun and 1956’s Giant; both starred Elizabeth Taylor, so perhaps it’s only fitting that Stevens’ final film behind the camera also starred his lucky charm of a leading lady. But it seems luck was in short supply with this production, which was slammed by critics, ignored by audiences, and ended up losing millions for 20th Century Fox. Stevens and Frank D. Gilroy, adapting his own flop play, were unable to expand what was basically a two-person piece for the contours of the big screen, and even a more intimate viewing at home on the couch fails to add any improvements. Taylor plays Fran Walker, a Las Vegas showgirl who’s impatiently waiting for her lover (Charles Braswell) to leave his wife and marry her. It’s been six months since she’s last heard from him and, feeling particularly lonely, she hooks up with Joe Grady (Warren Beatty), a lounge pianist who has a wisecrack for every situation. Despite her wariness, Fran asks Joe to be her roommate, a situation that becomes extremely complicated once Fran’s boyfriend shows up and even more so when Joe’s gambling problem, usually held in check, returns in an ugly way. Taylor is game but badly miscast; her performance, in tandem with Stevens’ atypically wheezy direction and Gilroy’s tedious dialogue, render this arid and ineffectual. Beatty, on the other hand, is quite good, locating both the hope and the despair uneasily coexisting inside his weak-willed character.

Movie: ★½

PEE-WEE’S BIG ADVENTURE (1985). After helming a number of quirky shorts, Tim Burton made his feature-film directorial debut with Pee-wee’s Big Adventure, an absolutely delightful film that, with the exception of Ed Wood, still ranks as his finest achievement. The picture also made a star of Pee-wee Herman (real name Paul Reubens), who would springboard to even greater success with the children’s show Pee-wee’s Playhouse, a hit (and not just with kids) that would run for five seasons. Written by Reubens, Michael Varhol, and Phil Hartman, Pee-wee’s Big Adventure finds the child-like character embarking on a cross-country search after his beloved bicycle is stolen. His trek puts him in contact with all sorts of memorable characters (“Tell them Large Marge sent you!”), yet the film’s inventiveness is on display from the get-go. In short, this is a movie brimming with eye-popping set designs, innovative sight gags, unexpected set-pieces (that biker bar and “Tequila,” plus James Brolin as “P.W.”), and a sizable number of hearty laughs (the pet shop scene, featuring all those snakes, slays me every time). This also marked the beginning of an illustrious movie career for former Oingo Boingo member Danny Elfman, whose work for Burton (he’s scored practically all of his films) as well as other directors have marked him as one of Hollywood’s best composers. At the time of its initial release, a critic (pretty sure it was the late Mike Clark of USA Today) wrote that “a demented masterpiece is still a masterpiece.” Amen.

Movie: ★★★★

ROLLERCOASTER (1977). One of the most interesting of all theatrical fads was Sensurround, created and commissioned by Universal to accompany its motion pictures in the mid-1970s. Basically an aural assault that could be felt as well as heard, it was impressive enough to earn its makers a special Academy Award in 1974. But the added expense to theaters combined with the structural damage it sometimes caused led to its rapid demise, and, ultimately, only four films were released employing the format. I caught all four during my youth, and while the additional rumbling wasn’t very noticeable in 1976’s Midway or the 1978 international theatrical cut of TV’s Battlestar: Galactica, it absolutely rocked the auditorium via 1974’s Earthquake and also worked wonderfully in 1977’s Rollercoaster. This enjoyable thriller casts George Segal as a safety inspector who finds himself matching wits with a blackmailer (Timothy Bottoms) who’s been blowing up prominent rollercoasters. Co-written by Richard Levinson and William Link, the team behind TV’s Columbo, the film co-stars such luminaries as Richard Widmark and Henry Fonda, although more fun can be found in spotting the up-and-comers tucked away in the margins, including 13-year-old Helen Hunt as Segal’s daughter, Body Double’s Craig Wasson as a park visitor, and an unbilled Steve Guttenberg as a messenger boy. The low point is the appearance of the band Sparks, belting out a pair of awful songs during a park concert.

Movie: ★★★

SLEEPLESS IN SEATTLE (1993). Writer-director Nora Ephron’s box office hit was one of the most popular romantic comedies of its decade — a good thing, since, like its protagonists, the picture wants nothing so much as to be loved. It’s awash in old-fashioned sentiment, as represented by the employment of the 1957 Cary Grant-Deborah Kerr weepie An Affair to Remember as the motor that drives its engine. Tom Hanks is Sam Baldwin, a widower who moves with his young son Jonah (Ross Malinger) from Chicago to Seattle in an attempt to lessen the pain of losing his wife (Carey Lowell). It doesn’t work, so Jonah dials into a national call-in radio show on his dad’s behalf. Exposed over the airwaves, Sam’s story breaks the heart of thousands of women; among them is Annie Reed (Meg Ryan), a reporter who’s set to marry the decent but dull Walter (Bill Pullman) but instead finds herself obsessing over a man she’s never even seen, let alone met. The film’s overwhelming warmth is what allows us to not only forgive the more labored moments but also to basically ignore the fact that we’re watching a movie about a stalker (switch the gender roles and you’ll see what I mean). Ryan effectively conveys the story’s more ethereal elements while Hanks punches across the down-to-earth principles (as when discussing the rules of the dating game); they’re backed by a sturdy supporting cast that includes Rita Wilson and Victor Garber as Sam’s best friends and Rob Reiner and Rosie O’Donnell on hand with the one-liners. The scene in which the men counter all the sobbing over An Affair to Remember with their own tearful description of The Dirty Dozen is a keeper. This earned Oscar nominations for Best Original Screenplay (Ephron, David S. Ward, and Jeff Arch) and Best Original Song (“A Wink and a Smile,” crooned by Harry Connick Jr.).

Movie: ★★★